


Among the weeds and brambles

by Kyriadamorte



Series: Written post-TLJ [29]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Oral Sex, gratuitous gardening metaphors, no I will not give you an exact time period, no mention of homophobia, vague allusions to child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyriadamorte/pseuds/Kyriadamorte
Summary: Perhaps he should have written ahead, warned Lord Ren of his intended visit. But Finn could not pass up the chance to be the one to dramatically surprise him for once.~A sequel to “Inhospitable Soil” in the Finnlo Drabble collection "By chance two separate glances meet"
Relationships: Finn/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Finn/Kylo Ren
Series: Written post-TLJ [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586827
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41
Collections: Finnlo-Focused Multiship Anthology 2019





	Among the weeds and brambles

Finn is always a messy jumble of emotions when he finishes a job. There's pride, of course, when he takes in the finished project. Frustration, usually, when he sees the little places here and there where funds or weather or his clients' own bad taste had gotten in the way of true perfection. Sorrow, sometimes, when he grows particularly attached…

_( -dark brown eyes looking up from under strong brows and across an aquiline nose over tea. A smile, the first smile he's ever seen on that lopsided mouth. He cannot help but smile back. "You really think you can give me roses?" )_

Today, Finn mostly just feels relief. Lord Armitage Hux had…strong opinions about, well, about _everything,_ but particularly plants. Finn's colors were wrong. His arrangement was wrong. The spacing was wrong. Truly, Finn wondered more than once why the man had bothered bringing in Finn's expertise at all, although he was hardly going to turn his nose up at the chance of payment.

Not that the absolute limp cravat of a man had wanted to give Finn full payment at the end. He'd had to hold firm, vaguely insinuated damages to Hux's reputation, all but name dropping more than a few of his more powerful clients in the hopes that it would be enough. It was, although just barely.

As the carriage pulls away, Finn tries not to think too hard about the rumors that Lord Hux had murdered his own father when he got in the way. Hopefully, Finn - despite his reputation and expertise - was considered far enough beneath him as to not be worth the same attention for any perceived slights.

Although, if he's perfectly honest with himself, it's not just the escape from Armitage Hux's never-ending sneer and disdain that has him in high spirits. No, it's the prospect of what awaits him at the end of a mere day and a half's journey.

Skywalker Manor.

Perhaps he should have written ahead, warned Lord Ren of his intended visit. But Finn could not pass up the chance to be the one to dramatically surprise _him_ for once.

~

The rush of nostalgia and relief and the wistful, longing _something_ Finn feels at seeing the large, imposing building and the sprawling grounds is cut off by a sudden wave of dismay when he sees the state of the place. It's grown positively wild, even along the winding path up to the manor itself. When he'd pushed for a more free and natural aesthetic for this part of the property, this isn't precisely what he'd had in mind.

The journey only grows more distressing as they get closer. The small orchard he'd installed has rotting apples littering the ground. The hedges in the maze had obviously not been trimmed in quite some time. The statue of Athena, when he finally gets close enough to realize what it is, is completely covered in ivy - not an artful touch by the feet, not carefully cultivated semi-wildness. No, the poor dear is being choked by vines and smothered in leaves. Everywhere, things have died off or gone to seed.

"Stop here," he tells the driver. "I'm going to walk the grounds for a bit. Please have my things delivered to the manor and inform Lord Ren that I will be there momentarily."

"Very well, sir."

He hops out, immediately assaulted by the unpleasant reminder of how damp and chilly it is up here, even into the early summer. He's cataloguing the various affronts to both his artistic vision and nature itself when he starts to wonder if he's made a mistake. Maybe Lord Ren had hated his vision. Of course, he'd _said_ he'd liked it, but he'd been reluctant to hire Finn in the first place. 

_"My mother insisted I bring someone in, but I've never been one for flowers."_

But that had been a lie. At least, Finn had thought so by the end…

Maybe Lord Ren had learned of his work with Hux; Finn knows the two men share no love for one another. Perhaps he'd seen Finn as a turncoat; perhaps he won't be welcome here at all. Or maybe Lord Ren had fallen on hard times and was in no state to be receiving guests. Maybe-

Finn stops abruptly - both in his spiral of worry he'd been working himself into, but also physically - when he turns the corner.

In front of him, is a startling cacophony of color. Neatly trimmed pink and orange and yellow and white roses bloom in stark contrast to the dreary green-grey surrounding them. Everywhere else, every other flower bed or corner of the grounds has fallen into disarray and yet, here…here it is the same as when Finn had left.

_What on earth?_

Finn doesn't believe in magic, not really; he's a man of the sciences. But the scene before him is so bizarre, so unsettling, despite its cheerful beauty, that he cannot truly be blamed for jumping nearly a foot in the air when a tall, darkly dressed figure stands up and appears from behind the flowers. 

He should also not be blamed for taking nearly a full minute to realize it's Lord Ren. In his defense, Lord Ren hardly looks like himself. To be sure, he's still dressed completely in black in a way that both suits him entirely, but also comes across as deeply ridiculous, particularly during the summer months. But his hair has grown longer and unkempt. His features are sharper with a good full stone of weight lost and his pale cheeks are streaked with dirt.

By the way Lord Ren blinks at him in confusion, he's not exactly quick on the uptake, either.

"Mr. Pentecost?" The normally smooth, deep voice sounds gravelly with disuse. "Is that really you?"

"In the flesh!" He says, trying to speak casually and play it off as if his heart isn't still hammering a rushed, pounding rhythm behind his ribs.

"What are you doing here?" 

Lord Ren's never been one for manners, but _really._

"The same could be asked of yourself, my lord. I wasn't aware men of your station were allowed to touch dirt with their bare hands."

He's not sure what it is about Lord Ren that has him constantly overstepping propriety. Judging by the smile that finally cracks his wild, wide-eyed bewilderment, he doesn't seem to mind, though.

"Roses are fussy things. Someone's got to take care of them properly," he says, rubbing his palms against his thighs indignantly.

"I thought you had someone to do that for you. That nervous, twitchy chap - what was his name? - Mitasha?"

" _Mitaka,_ " Ren spits out in a tone that - for his general grumpiness - was usually reserved for Hux, Snoke, and people who spoke at the opera. "Useless man."

"He seemed to be competent enough when I was working with him," Finn counters. "What changed?"

"He was going to ruin everything." His voice is half rumble half whisper and his gaze is somewhere over Finn's shoulder.

"How so?"

"He was neglecting his duties. Wasn't taking proper care of them. That one there," he says, gesturing at a small one in the corner with two dusky pink blooms. "it wasn't thriving, wasn't flowering. Leaves started turning yellow. But instead of dealing with it properly, instead of putting in the thought and the work, he was just going to give up and dig it up. Can you imagine?”

Yes, he can. But he doesn’t say that.

"So you dismissed him…for wanting to dig up a flower?" By the end of his previous stay at Skywalker Manor, Finn could usually follow the twists and turns in Ren's melodrama, but, with this, he's sure he's missing something. "You have seen the rest of the grounds, yes?"

Ren waves him off in dismissal - Finn's concerns about the abysmal state of Ren's own property little more than a gnat.

"That doesn't concern me."

"I'm pretty sure it concerns your guests."

" _They_ don't concern me, either."

"But the roses do?"

He's trying to follow, honestly he is, but Lord Ren had been downright dismissive of his initial offers to design a rose garden for him. He'd insisted on 'practical gardening,' scoffed at Finn's designs and attempts to incorporate some colour as “frivolous French nonsense." 

(Most things Lord Ren disliked were apparently French, even when they weren't.)

Sure, he'd brought him round by the end, but he'd been under the impression that it was a begrudging acknowledgement of and respect for Finn's skill set, rather than any burning desire to have them on his property. But apparently not.

"Of course they do! _You_ planted them."

This isn't helping. "I planted all of it!"

"No," Ren says through gritted teeth, cheeks flushed. "You _planned_ all of it. You ordered about some of your men and my men and maybe did some adjustments here and there."

Finn opens his mouth to protest. This is hardly fair!

Ren waves him off again, "Don't mistake me; you were brilliant, of course, but it wasn't your hands on them." Finn flushes. "You didn't care for them personally, day after day. You didn't grind up bones and eggs to make little potions and concoctions and what not to feed them. You didn't bloody sing to them when you thought no one was looking."

His jaw snaps shut at that last part, hadn't meant to give so much away. And Finn hears what he's saying. More than that, he hears what he's not saying. But he needs more, he needs-

"And that's…important, is it?"

_Tell me. Tell me. Tell me you've thought of me as I have thought of you._

Ren picks at the dirt under his nails and avoids Finn's gaze. "I thought I'd never see you again. As long as I could keep the roses alive like they were, the way you left them I thought- I- It was like you weren't entirely gone. Not really."

He peers up at Finn then from under his heavy brow and dark, messy hair that has flopped into his eyes. "You must think me mad."

A bit, perhaps, but that's hardly a new development. He won't say that, though, not with the way Ren is bracing himself. No, he walks forward slowly, smiling gently. This one wants to grow, he knows. Thorny, hard, but needs gentle care. He must proceed with caution.

"I'm here," he says, finally answering Ren's first question, "because I wanted to see you. I have no business here. Quite bloody inconvenient, actually. But I…I missed you."

Ren steps forward still cautious, still hesitant, but there's something…a spark.

"You could have come earlier," he says - half proposition, half sulk.

"And you could have written me," Finn answers.

Ren accepts the mild scolding with a smile and a rare stroke of grace. "So I could have."

There's no one around - idiot man has apparently let half his staff go in a fit of pique - so Finn decides to reward him for good behavior.

So, he reaches up, grabs him by the collar, and kisses him.

At first, Ren doesn't kiss back, and it's the longest seven seconds of his life. But then he does and oh _does_ he. His large hands are cupping Finn's face and he's leaning down to press his lips more firmly to Finn's and then he's running his tongue lightly along Finn's lower lip.

It feels so good and it's Lord Ren, who had dug his way into Finn's heart with his hair and his Byron and his moods, which makes it even better. It occurs to him, in the small part of his mind that isn't currently preoccupied with Ren's lips and tongue and torso, that they could have been doing this the whole time. Although, perhaps not. Would he have been ready? Would either of them have been ready, before? Maybe on that last day, that last night when he'd found Lord Ren in the by the window. Beautiful in the moonlight and…they'd almost…they could have. 

But maybe not. Everything in its season and all that. You have to plant the seeds at the right time.

There's a clap of thunder that make them both startle and pull apart. The sky opens up, drenching Ren's long, loose curls in seconds. His face splits into a smile that only looks about half-mad, bless him - whether because of the rain or despite it, Finn can't quite tell.

"Shall we head inside?" Finn asks, already moving, but holding on to the seams of the other man's waistcoat in an attempt to tug him along. 

Ren's hand covers his and tugs him back in. "No. They'll take you to your rooms and draw you a bath and fuss over me to make sure I'm presentable and then it will be supper and I'll have to wait until nightfall to be with you." _He_ reaches out to _Finn_ now, pulls him closer, then whispers into the air between them, "And I have waited long enough."

He leans forward and kisses Finn. The heat of his mouth and tongue and breath from his nose is startling in contrast to the wet chill that's started to settle into Finn's skin and clothing. "I must have you."

Finn's quite sure he's read this scene in at least two novels (and he's almost positive Ren's read it in far more). He's finding that it works much better as an aesthetic that you can picture in your head than an actual experience.

"In the mud?" he asks, peppering kisses across the other man's sharp jaw. It's mostly a joke, although he's not sure he'd put it past Ren. Before, definitely, but now Finn's seen his hands dirtier than he ever would have imagined so all bets are off.

"Perhaps another time," he laughs and, oh, planning for a next time _and_ a joke. "Come, follow me!"

And then he's dragging Finn along like a naughty schoolboy, running laughing, all but splashing in the still-forming puddles in their haste as they run across the grounds. They eventually make it to an old, but still sturdy-looking little building. More than a shed, but less than proper stables (no animals for one). Ren fiddles with a slightly rusted latch, fingers shaking. It might be from the cold at this point, Finn will concede…but it might also be from Finn himself, and that has him flushing even against the chill.

Inside is nothing to speak of - some tools, half of which have a light layer of dust and cobwebs, and two piles of hay. It doesn't take much imagination to realize where they're going to be headed.

For all the frantic, frenetic energy he'd shown in getting them here, Ren suddenly seems bashful and nervous, in as much as the tall, looming man can seem either of those things. "When I was younger, I used to play in here. Look you can still see my masterpieces along the walls there and there."

And indeed he can. There are small stick figures and slightly blocky letters Finn can recognize as Greek, but cannot read. "Inspired, truly," he teases, stepping closer. "The allusion to the classics combined with the minimalism is a unique approach."

Ren laughs again - still a surprising sound, even after all this time. Sharing stories about his childhood without the aid of alcohol and laughing at himself in good humor - who would have thought? What a sharp contrast between this and the man Finn had first met over a year ago. 

And then further back. He thinks about the little boy Ren must have been when he played here - pale and curious with the same large ears peeping out from a mane of dark hair. Would they have been friends then? He likes to think so - both of their childhoods had been lonely, but he's not sure. How similar had he been to the harsh, sullen man he'd encountered sprawled out in the armchair by the fire? The man who'd snarled and snarked and thrown wine glasses and done all he could to scare Finn off as he'd scared off so many before? Had it been something in his nature or had life shaped him that way?

Unaware of the tangent Finn's mind has gone on, Ren continues. "Sometimes, especially when my parents were away, I'd hide and make up stories about running away from an evil warlock."

"Snoke?" Finn asks, already knowing the answer and wishing he hadn't asked.

"Naturally. Far better suited to a warlock than a tutor, don't you think?"

Finn's not sure warlock is strong enough, dark enough to describe that disgusting wretch, but he just nods, not wanting to pursue the subject further. Ren seems to agree, steps in closer to Finn so there's only a mere few inches between them. "I didn't bring us here to talk about Snoke."

"No," Finn agrees and then pulls him into a thorough kiss before Ren can start another monologue. For someone who had waited long enough, he's certainly making Finn do an awful lot of waiting.

He answers back hungrily enough, though, just needing someone to guide him a bit. Speaking of…

Finn pushes him down onto the hay and then takes up residence in his lap fast enough to swallow the small sound of protest before it is fully formed. He starts pulling at Ren's clothing, deftly undoing the buttons in movements practiced in France and Spain before pulling the shirt out of his breaches to expose the lovely taut belly beneath. His palms press into the slight soft give, marveling at the movement of muscles beneath with each inhale and exhale. He makes his way up to Kylo's wide, full chest and begins thumbing his nipple.

Ren breaks off with a gasp - eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Finn presses harder, circles once, twice, then pinches. Ren scrunches his eyes shut, throws is head back, and moans. He rolls his head back and forth and there's straw everywhere: his hair, his wet shirt - he's half harlot, half ragamuffin. 

(Vaguely, a part of Finn recognizes that if they'd wanted to avoid unwanted attention from the servants, this was precisely the opposite way to go about it, but he cannot bring himself to fully care.)

Ren's hands have begun to grasp at Finn's thighs and hips (caress would have been a kinder, but less accurate term) while his own hips started thrusting - small movements, then harder - into Finn. He's beautiful and enchanting and probably trying his best, but utterly useless and isn't that just the perfect summary of the man? Finn pushes his hands - still fluttering in a way that feels nice enough, but isn't going to get things moving - down and out of the way before stripping off his own shirt.

Ren's eyes snap open and Finn can bloody _feel_ him stop breathing, the fool, and then he's scrambling, tugging at his own shirt until it's off and over his head. Finn hears something that sounds like tearing, but if Ren is wearing it to garden in, it probably was a lost cause to begin with.

The feeling of Ren’s chest against his own, Ren’s _skin_ against his own, is like poetry. Slick with sweat and rain, cold and hot at the same time, and, beneath, the rhythmic gallop of his heartbeat. He presses himself against the other man more firmly - hoping to absorb or tame the other man’s tumultuous energy, he cannot say. Finn nuzzles into his neck, licks along his collar bone, and then bites gently into the muscle along his shoulder. Ren makes a gasping, slightly wounded sound, but the way he clutches and scratches at the nape of Finn’s neck is nothing but delightful encouragement.

Finn soothes the bite mark with his tongue before kissing a path down his torso. He takes small nips here and there - Ren’s chest, his abdomen, the small patch of skin above his navel - before pulling down Ren’s trousers, exposing his cock. He hears Ren take in a sharp breath and Finn looks up to see him biting his lower lip. He’s looking down at Finn, quiet and nervous, as if he doesn’t have the most magnificent cock Finn has ever seen. Ridiculous, ridiculous man.

Finn locks eyes with Ren, lowers his head down - slowly, slowly, holding his gaze the entire time - and licks a long, wet stripe along his shaft and over the tip. Ren bites his lip hard and scrunches up his eyes and Finn’s pretty sure that’s whimper he just heard. Since he’s no longer got a captive audience, he returns his gaze and his attention fully to the task at hand.

He grasps the base and takes the rest into his mouth. He’s known other men who would be far more ambitious, but choking has always dampened Finn’s arousal rather than ignite it.

Luckily, Ren doesn’t seem to be finding anything lacking. He’s moaning - deep rumbles punctuated by the occasional sharp intake of breath or whimpering whine. His hair is a lost cause by this point and his pale cheeks are flushed a deep pink. Finn - who knows the pattern and petals of hundreds of blossoms - has never seen such a beautiful sight. 

When his eyes pop open, wild and frantic, Finn prepares for - but no, Ren is pull at his arms, urging him into his lap while tugging frantically his trousers. He goes along with it (by which he means he does most of the work undressing and does his best to avoid kneeing Ren in the groin or head-butting him) and cautiously takes up position in Ren’s lap again. The other man kisses him soundly, desperately, cupping Finn’s cheeks in his large hands, which does quite a lot to dispel his concerns that Ren is wanting to take these proceedings to a place that Finn is not physically, mentally, or materially prepared for.

He needn’t have worried.

“Next time,” he murmurs against Finn’s lip in between kisses. “Next time, I’m going to have you sprawled out on my bed. I’m going to worship you.” He grasps at Finn’s cock and starts stroking it - first tremulous, then with increasing strength and determination. “I want to give you everything. I’ll take some of our roses and spread the petals out beneath us. I want to spoil you; will you let me spoil you?”  
  
“Not if I spoil you first.” He’s not sure what prompts him to say it - it’s not like he has the same kinds of funds - but he knows that Ren needs to be spoiled, by someone who knows how. Ren seems to agree, judging by the way he shudders beneath him.

“Later, I want to take you inside me. Will you let me?”

That’s…possibly the oddest way he’s ever heard that question phrased, but the answer is, of course, a resounding - “Yes. _Yes._ ”

“Maybe I should have waited. I wanted you so badly, but maybe I should have had it be special. Because you are special to me. I should have-”

This is getting off track for all that Ren’s hand is still working up and down Finn’s cock. “It’s perfect.”

It’s the right thing to say because they’re kissing again, which is much nicer than listening to Ren worry and self-flagellate. 

He reaches for Ren’s cock and revels in the firm velvety texture beneath his fingers as he pumps it once, twice, thrice- 

Ren bats his hand away. “I can’t. I’m too- Are you close?”

Ah, he wants them to reach their peak together. How wonderfully endearing and predictable of him.

“Almost,” he soothes and that’s only a bit of a stretch. He’s used to prolonging the proceedings, not rushing them, but he knows his own body well enough. “Touch me harder and a bit faster.”  
  
Ren follows his instructions almost immediately and, if Finn’s being honest, that’s possibly even more arousing than the increased friction. He closes his eyes and chases the pleasure until his body is humming with it. Closer, but still not quite - 

“My back,” he gasps out around a breath he did know he was holding. “Scratch down my back.”  
  
He’d only meant a slight scrape of nails, but in Ren’ enthusiasm he’s slashed down his back, probably drawing a bit of blood. The pleasure-pain is enough to have him on the precipice. He grabs Ren’s cock, presses it against his own, and takes both of them over the edge in less than a dozen strokes.

“Yes, that’s it - please!” 

“I can’t-”

“Oh, _God!”_

~

“Hux, really?”

Ren’s voice rumbles up through his chest beneath Finn’s ear, losing the sleepy lilt of satisfaction and slipping back into the more familiar petulance. 

“His money spends as well as anyone’s,” Finn responds. “When he decides to pay it, that is.”

“He didn’t pay you?” Ah, and now we’re into righteous fury and indignation. Finn smiles.

“He did, eventually. I threatened to let you loose on him, which seemed to do the trick. Likely thought you’d kill him, judging on the turn around.”

“I absolutely would have.”

Naturally. 

“You can’t murder all of my more unreasonable clients. I’ll have no business.”

“I suppose I’ll have to hire you again then, won’t I?”

The affected casual tone to his voice is fooling precisely no one.

“Lord Ren…” The man in question stiffens beneath him at the increase in formality.

“It’s as you said, the rest of my grounds are a disgrace. I’ll need your advisement on-”  
  
“I’m not going to be a kept man,” Finn says, soft, but determined.

There’s a woosh of breath and then a long silence.

“Not kept. Of course not, Finn. But just...you’d have a place. Here. With me. When you want it.”

“You really think you’d need me that often?”  
  
“Yes,” Ren answers, quick and urgent. And then, with that same unconvincing layer of nonchalance. “Tending roses is a tricky business.”  
  
“You seem to be doing alright.” Finn answers fondly, tracing circles into the space above Ren’s hipbone to know he doesn’t mean it as a rejection.

“I’m not,” he says, his voice quiet and hollow.

Finn looks up at Ren’s face. His dark eyes are piercing and earnest, flayed to the bone. 

_I know,_ Finn doesn’t say, but thinks rather loudly. Instead, he inches back up to kiss Ren’s lips.

“Fine. First we’ll take a bath and make you look a little bit less like a scarecrow and then I’ll draw up some new plans.”  
  
“Won’t the old ones do?” There’s more than a bit of pouting.

“Absolutely not - fashion has changed since then and I’ve grown as an artist.”

“Of course.”  
  
“And you have to promise me you won’t let the place fall into disrepair again. Or dismiss anyone I decide to bring on without consulting me first. I’m not going to put in the work if you’re simply going to let it fall apart within a few months every time I leave to work with other clients.”

“Well, it’s different now that I know you’re coming _back._ ”

And it is, isn’t it?

~

Over the years, Finn comes and goes and comes back again. Ever so often he’ll make adjustments. A new tree here. A completely new design there. A centerpiece of a bloom that won’t live more than a year, but _oh_ what a year it will be.

The roses always stay the same.


End file.
